


It's a Dirty Free-for-all

by canistakahari



Series: Bones-breaks-a-leg-'verse [4]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alcohol, Bachelor Party, Dancing, Drinking Games, Friendship, Gen, Humor, M/M, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Leonard's bachelor party. Leonard's friends are the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Dirty Free-for-all

“There better not be any strippers,” says Leonard grimly. “I specifically said  _no strippers_ , Christine. It’s your job as best man to respect that.”   
  
Unfortunately, the gravity of his pronouncement is completely erased when he trips and flails helplessly until he collides with someone that feels and sounds a lot like Hikaru. Apparently being jumped and blindfolded after work by your coworkers before being carried off to your bachelor party is  _normal_  behavior and not at all sadistic and terrifying.  
  
“Uh huh,” says Christine in a mild voice. “Hear that, Gaila? No strippers. It’s a good thing we didn’t book any strippers at all, huh.”  
  
“Strippers bad,” says Gaila seriously. “Leonard hate strippers! Leonard hate fun!”   
  
For some reason that seemed like a good one at the time, Gaila is Leonard’s other best man.  _Why_  Leonard thought giving either of them free reign over his life was a good idea, he honestly has no clue. Maybe alcohol was involved?   
  
Christine takes Leonard’s left arm and Gaila takes his right, while Hikaru takes up position behind him as they collectively herd Leonard into the crowded club.   
  
“There are strippers, aren’t there,” Leonard says flatly. “Beefy male strippers wearing tiny leather briefs.”   
  
Christine’s reply is drowned out by the heavy thud of distorted bass, but he thinks it’s something like, ‘how did he know?’ The smell of the club hits him like a kick to the face—perfumed bodies, sweat, and hairspray, all blanketed by the sharp burn of alcohol and artificial fruit. Somewhere out in the city, Jim is doing the exact same thing with Sam and a cluster of friends and colleagues from his old law firm (including a straight-laced man named Spock that Leonard’s only met once but whom he knows, instinctively, would be absolutely hilarious to watch in this kind of situation.)  
  
“Geoff, there you are!” cries Christine over the din of the music and voices. “I’m glad you’re here, grab his legs.”  
  
“WHAT?” demands Leonard. “What are you—”  
  
“Len, shut  _up_  for once in your life!” interrupts Hikaru.  
  
Three sets of hands grip his arms and shoulders while Geoff sweeps him right off his feet and Leonard offers some token resistance as they lift him up onto a hard sticky surface. He tries to sit up, only to be immediately pinned back down, and he yells, “AM I ON THE BAR? I BETTER NOT BE ON THE BAR, HOW FUCKING UNHYGENIC IS THIS?”  
  
“You stay where we put you, Leonard McCoy,” Gaila orders, standing right by Leonard’s ear. “This is your bachelor party, and you are going to get drunk and have fun.”  
  
“Fun!” sputters Leonard. “I’ll give you—”  
  
He’s distracted from a potential rant by someone swiftly divesting him of his shirt. He suspects that it’s Gaila, judging by the brush of soft curls against his skin and the whiff of spiced orange.   
  
“Open up!” says Christine, pressing a shot glass to his lips.  
  
“He shouldn’t have any problem with that,” quips Hikaru.   
  
It’s swallow or choke, so Leonard downs the shot, coughing at the burn. “What the fuck was that?” he wheezes.   
  
“Never you mind,” chuckles Gaila. “Now hold still. Hikaru, if he tries to get up, it’s your job to stop him.”  
  
“Yes,  _ma’am_ ,” barks Hikaru with  _far_  too much enthusiasm for Leonard to be comfortable. “I shall ready my implements.”  
  
Another shot is pressed to his lips and Leonard drinks it obediently, booze escaping down his chin in a sloppy mess. “Is this blindfold ever coming off?” he demands, his head already spinning a bit. What the hell did they just give him? His tongue is going numb.

“Not until we’re finished with the body-shots,” says Geoff.  
  
“Oh god,” says Leonard.  
  
He tries to roll himself off the bar to make a break for it, but severely underestimates the seriousness with which Hikaru regards his hastily-assigned job.  
  
Hikaru, the  _bastard_ , retaliates by  _tying Leonard’s wrists and ankles to the bar_.   
  
By the time there’s a shot of tequila in his navel and Gaila has gagged him with a wedge of lime, Leonard has given up. He’s not getting out of this. They’ve fed him enough shots to catapult him into the realm of well and truly wasted and up on this higher plane of existence all he can think about is that he has the  _best friends in the world_  and he’s in love with  _Jim_  and they’re getting  _married_  and that is  _awesome_. His life is awesome. Breaking his leg was the best thing that ever happened to him.   
  
Christine sucks the alcohol out of his bellybutton and licks salt from his abs before delicately plucking the wedge of lime from his lips with her teeth.  
  
Then someone puts a straw in his mouth and goads him into knocking back what tastes like a long island iced tea and from there the evening dissolves into vague memories and fanciful impressions.   
  
He knows that eventually the blindfold comes off, which reveals that there  _are_  strippers—tall, muscled men, with gleaming skin and rippling abdominals, who are at first wearing very little and then very suddenly wearing nothing at all—and there is also raucous dancing that Leonard participates in with uncharacteristic hearty enthusiasm, grinding up against Christine while she digs the fingers of both hands into his hair and musses it into wild disarray, yelling, “WE SHOULD FROST YOUR TIPS!” in his face.   
  
It’s Geoff that escorts him to the bathroom when Leonard has to throw up, practically carrying him while Leonard clings to his body and moans unhappily. Geoff plants him in front of the toilet with a palm circling his forehead, rubbing his back while he vomits.   
  
“You’re such a good friend,” slurs Leonard, pressing his face to the toilet seat. In the back of his mind, he’s screaming at himself about the  _germs_ , oh god, he needs  _all the disinfectant in the world_. “You’re so great. And you’re such a good DOCTOR, too. Why do you even like me? I’m terrible. I’m so mean and I’m a pain in the ass and WHY DO YOU PUT UP WITH ME?”  
  
“Because you’re funny and competent,” says Geoff soothingly. Leonard hasn’t blubbered at Geoff like this since med school. “And like anyone else with eyes, I know that you would drop everything the second you knew one of us needed help.”  
  
“Not true,” groans Leonard. “I’d put it down carefully. What if I was holding something breakable?”  
  
Geoff bears his foray into drunken ridiculousness with good grace, washes his face for him, and sends him right back out onto the dancefloor, where Leonard’s roiling nausea is immediately forgotten in the face of another tray of Jell-O shots.   
  
It’s just before dawn by the time Christine, Geoff, Gaila, and Hikaru bring him home, and Leonard is steadily approaching the world of the sober.   
  
Still, he’s exhausted and blindly trusting as Hikaru offers to help him out of his jacket, so it must be pretty damn easy for the four of them to strip him naked and tie him spread-eagle to the bed for Jim to find when he gets back.  
  
That doesn’t make it  _fair_.


End file.
